


Paint

by daltoneering



Series: Drabbles [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 04:46:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4046518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daltoneering/pseuds/daltoneering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine are painting their new living room. Stuff happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint

“Did you get some fresh water?”

Blaine sets the bucket down next to their paint trays with a heavy  _thud_. “You can thank me later,” he says, smirking, and grabs his paintbrush to wash it off in the clean water.

Kurt watches him, unimpressed as the water turns from clear to the same murky colour as the previous bucketful. “You know,” he says wearily, “the whole point of fresh water is that it _is fresh_.”

“And? It was fresh before, now it’s been put to a good use.” Blaine grins at him lopsidedly and Kurt can’t find the power within him to do any more than roll his eyes and slather some more paint on his roller.

Kurt’s creative playlist thrums in the background, a catchy tune that makes him want to wiggle his hips and maybe do a bit of shimmying. He coordinates his strokes of the roller with the beat so that he can dance as he paints. Blaine joins him, and they sing along together, giggling and flirting with each other in their near empty living room.

It’s still a little overwhelming, that they’re finally  _here_. They signed the lease on the apartment a week ago and only have the living room left to paint; a bonus to finding a new place over the summer meant that they could spend all their time working on it rather than going to classes. It’s been several weeks of planning and packing and trying to get together the funds to fix the place up, but now they’re painting their  _last room_  and the bulk of the furniture is arriving at the weekend.

Kurt smiles at his patch of wall, swiping his roller over a spot that definitely needed redoing, humming along to Katy Perry and  _holy fuck what was that—_

There’s a freezing cold streak of paint down the side of his neck.

He turns to Blaine, best death glare he can muster. “ _Blaine.”_

Blaine grins at him, shrugs. “I thought you needed a little colour.”

Kurt’s mouth drops open, and he swipes out with his roller, just catching Blaine’s shoulder as his fiancé darts away across the room. “This shirt is Marc Jacobs, Blaine!” he cries, nearly tripping over the fresh water bucket as he aims the roller at Blaine again.

“It’s also six years out of season and you would never be caught wearing it in public,” Blaine teases, managing to get his forearm with his brush. Kurt shrieks and lunges, a broad streak of blue down the front of Blaine’s white shirt. Blaine laughs and dips his brush, catching Kurt’s leg with it as he stands up.

Kurt raises an eyebrow at him and picks up another brush, dipping it in the yellow paint and wielding it in his other hand. “You aren’t even going to remember your original skin tone when I am done with you, Anderson,” he threatens.

Blaine grins, that mischievous gleam he gets shining bright in his eyes. “You are so on.”

They chase each other around the room, giggling and shrieking with each splash of paint. Kurt knocks over three of the trays as he jumps away from Blaine, and thank goodness they were already barefoot, because there’s paint all over the floor. It squelches between his toes but he jumps out of the way before Blaine can get him.

He does take of the Marc Jacobs shirt fairly soon, reasoning to himself that it’s summer in New York and far too hot and it is a rather nice shirt, even if it’s out of date and ruined for life. Blaine follows his example, and he celebrates the revelation of his fiancé’s bare chest by painting a bright streak down the middle, lip trapped under his teeth.

Blaine drops his brushes and drops down quickly, smearing his hands in the paint all over the floor. When he stands up he has that look in his eyes and Kurt doesn’t even care that he uses four different types of body lotion because  _wow_  Blaine looks hot, hair dishevelled and body streaked with paint.

He moves closer, the air between them heavy. The playlist has ended and the only sound is the slight panting of their breaths.

Blaine holds Kurt’s gaze and runs one paint-covered finger across the line of his collarbone, slow and sensual. The gesture sends goosebumps down Kurt’s spine. Blaine finger moves down his chest, leaving blue swirls behind, and circles his nipple. Kurt gasps. “C-cold.”

Blaine nods, moving his finger over to the other nipple, and Kurt grabs his arm, dipping his head and taking a deep breath. He’s  _sensitive_  there.

“Lie down,” murmurs Blaine. “Wanna try something.”

Kurt’s hardly aware of the crinkling newspaper and paint all over his jeans as he drops to the floor, stretching out on his back as Blaine hovers above him.

“Turn over.”

Kurt rolls onto his stomach, folding his arms under his head and closing his eyes. It’s still for a moment, then Blaine straddles him, palms sliding up his sides and over his shoulders. He sighs contently.

Blaine’s breath is hot over the back of his neck, tickling his hair and sending shivers down his spine. He presses a light kiss to his skin, followed by another, and another, slowly moving across his back. The trail of kisses is followed by Blaine’s fingers, smooth and cool with paint, sliding and creating patterns over his body, a canvas for the man he loves.

It tickles slightly, but then Blaine’s lips are brushing over the waistband of his jeans, making his toes curl. The smooth paint follows, and Blaine dips his fingers under slightly, tickling the top of his sacrum.

“Blaine,” Kurt gasps, opening his eyes and twisting round to look at him. Blaine’s eyelids are heavy, and he surges forward to kiss him, the angle awkward but the heat behind it no less present. Kurt rolls over onto his side and Blaine goes with him so that they’re lying facing each other on the paint-covered ground.

Kurt twines his arm around Blaine’s waist, pulling his body closer against his and deeper into the kiss. “Fuck,” he mutters, calf sliding up over Blaine’s leg and pinning them together. “So hot, Blaine.” He grinds their cocks together through the rough fabric, panting against Blaine’s mouth at the friction.

Blaine moans and scrambles for the button of his jeans; Kurt lifts his hips up slightly so that he can shove them and his boxer-briefs down his legs. His underwear gets tangled around his feet, but he doesn’t care, manages to kick it off as he tugs at Blaine’s zipper. Everything between them is frantic and heated, and Blaine wraps his hand around his cock and Kurt moans loudly against his mouth, hands dipping into Blaine’s underwear and round to squeeze his ass, pressing their groins together more firmly. He rocks against him, the head of his dick sliding through the paint on Blaine’s belly.

They manage to get off Blaine’s pants and briefs and Kurt surges forward, wrapping his leg higher up around Blaine’s thigh and fucking against him. Blaine circles both their cocks with his hand, creating a channel that Kurt fucks up through, thrills shooting out from his groin as their dicks rub together.

Everything is a weird mix of hot and cold and slicked with paint, bright splashes of colour against the tan of Blaine’s skin and the paleness of his own. He rocks harder against Blaine, delighting in the friction and the slide of precome mixed with paint inside the channel of Blaine’s hand. His balls begin to tighten, a low heat deep in his groin, and he pants against Blaine’s mouth, barely kissing him, just lips pressed together and intermingled breath.

Blaine starts moving faster, harder, and within moments he’s coming with a loud moan that sounds like his name. Pearly white come shoots up between their chests, mixing with the reds and blues and yellows of the paint, and the sight is enough for Kurt to crash into his orgasm, cock fucking with abandon though the slick circle of Blaine’s fist and hands clenched in Blaine’s hair.

He rolls onto Blaine in the aftermath, a warm haze covering his mind and leaving him sleepy. Blaine’s chest is  _wet_  underneath his cheek, a mixture of come and paint, and Kurt slides his fingers through it, making patterns and swirls.

When they’ve both recovered enough to sit up, Kurt looks around at the state their soon-to-be living room is in. Thankfully, most of the walls are fine—there’s still a large patch that hasn’t been done, but they have time—but the floor. Well. He’s thankful they thought to put newspaper down first.

Next to him, Blaine drags the bucket of water across the floor. “Clean-up time,” he teases. Kurt makes a face at him.

Blaine surveys the mess, and turns to Kurt. “I can’t wait to live here,” he says.

“Me neither,” Kurt replies happily, moving forward to press a soft kiss to Blaine’s lips. “But honestly, Blaine. Only we could manage to christen our apartment  _before_  we move in.”

Blaine grins. “We’ll just have to make up for it when we finally do, then,” he says.


End file.
